


Who Are You Wearing Tonight?

by sleepinnude



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: FNO, Fashion's Night Out, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 19:04:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/751958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepinnude/pseuds/sleepinnude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darren wakes up, has people make him look pretty and style his hair, gets put into clothes more expensive than pretty much his entire daily wardrobe all added up and then they put the cameras and the music on and his direction for the day is “sell sexy.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Are You Wearing Tonight?

**Author's Note:**

> endless thanks to aubrey for approval.

It’s really hard for Darren to remember that this is work sometimes. Work. This is his job. He wakes up, has people make him look pretty and style his hair, gets put into clothes more expensive than pretty much his entire daily wardrobe all added up and then they put the cameras and the music on and his direction for the day is “sell sexy.”

Which isn’t exactly difficult considering the people he’s “selling sexy” alongside. Even if he does feel a little ridiculous giving his best bedroom eyes to the camera because, sinful red suit and pounding bassline aside, he’s still sort of just Darren and despite what online headlines and gossip magazines and polls throw at him, he doesn’t really see himself as sexy.

Chris, though. Chris, he sees as very sexy. Especially in those fucking pants, christ. It’s very hard to act like some sort of indifferent sex icon when his mind is supplying all sorts of ideas on how Chris must have had help getting into those jeans and, fuck, that meant he would certainly need help getting out of them and Darren was a good friend, he was always ready to lend a helping hand…

And everything is sort of contained until they do the catwalk shots. Because up until then he’s just sort of fooling around with Heather and Dianna and he can play it up as something close to flirting, which he knows how to do. So when it comes time for him to walk and sell sexy to the camera, he makes a character out of it. Not Blaine Anderson, because, just no, but someone else that Darren can sink and settle into, some don’t-have-the-time model/actor with a raging case of seeing the world through cooler-than-you lenses.

And then Chris walks out after him and Darren is in this character, not Blaine but still someone who is very attracted to the Kurt-esque persona Chris is wearing and so he catches his eyes and they latch onto each other and the look Chris shoots back to him is pure you just fucking wish. And it makes Darren and Blaine and whoever else he’s puppeting pivot again to watch those few more steps Chris takes, head reeling. He knows every thought that’s rampaging his mind is flickering clear over his face and they can’t be too hard to read because they’re all written in shades of want and lust and need and fuck with interslotting shots of lips and tongue and skin and gasps and Darren learns firsthand how unfortunate it is to forget how to walk while on a fucking catwalk.

Even later, when they’re in the makeshift dressing room, laughing, temples buzzing with the adrenaline of a job well done, and being helped out of the borrowed clothing, Darren can’t get that loaded and scorching look out of his head. So he fumbles with buttons and keeping his head down while trying to reconcile the gaze that has imprinted itself on the back of his eyelids with the squeaky laugh that’s coming from the corner where Chris and Cory are talking as they pull their own closes back on. It’s all sort of infected Darren’s mind now and he almost can’t stand to breathe and it’s to the point where he’s nearly forgotten where he is when a hand suddenly claps to his back and Chord is there, all smiles and drawl. Suitably distracted, he manages to get back to himself and fall easily into chattering.

He almost forgets about it. Almost. It’s easy to, when the Chris he usually encounters is just…Chris. Nerdy, quick-witted, lively Chris. He’s daily thoughts aren’t plagued with those fucking eyes and those legs in those pants. Daily. During the day. Those thoughts. Nightly, however. Nightly thoughts are a horse of a different color. Nightly thoughts are awful and brain-pulling and flashing like neon with flushed skin and pulled-hair and blown pupils and mouthmouthmouth and legs and hips and goddamn motherfucking eyes that sent something hot and liquid and quick spiraling and pooling into his stomach and his fingers twitching toward the waistband of his boxers and fuck.

So Darren should find it as no surprise, really, when it all boils over after seeing the whole video cut together. Because seeing himself and seeing Chris, from third-person-point of view… Jesus and seeing the way he practically falls apart after that look and the way he just stops for a minute but Chris continues on, turning those eyes on the camera and then fucking hell he’s getting the exact same pitch low in his stomach from that look and he’s squirming a little but everyone else is cooing and squealing and blushing and then Ashley is shoving his shoulder and making some kind of comment about the way the way his jaw practically drops and Darren just grins in return and steadfastly does. not. make. eye-contact. with. Chris. 

But he should still really expect it when, after everyone else has left, he ends up locking his front against Chris’s and steering the other boy against the wall. Chris makes a brief noise of surprise, shoulders shifting and clacking against the hard surface, before casting his eyes down to meet Darren’s with a hazy grin. “Who the hell were you in that video?” he asks, low and as if Darren isn’t bringing his hips steadily up and into Chris’, as if the thought had just occurred to him.

“Who the hell were you?” Darren shoots back, something needy raking the back of his throat as he leans into mouth sloppily over Chris’ collarbone.

“You’re the one who looked at me like…like you wanted to fuck me right there on that set.”

Darren chuckles at the humor in Chris’ voice, ignoring the hitch in his mind that suddenly sends images of that thought, of fucking Chris right there on that set. Because he has the boy pressed up against a wall, hips sliding together and his tongue mapping up his neck and Chris is making fun of him. Of course. Noisily pulling back from Chris’ neck, Darren meets his eyes and answers back, “Dude. You were the one who was making me want to fuck you right there.”

That actually, finally, gets a reaction from Chris; this breathy little moan that has him jerking his hips up and brings a satisfied grin to Darren’s face. It quickly drops into a broken sort of whimper when Chris grips his hips and turns, rocking Darren into the wall and tilting his head down so that he can press their lips together. It’s heady and raw and tongues touch and slide and teeth click and suddenly everything is moving double-speed.

Chris’ fingers find hips and shoulders and bare skin and Darren’s teeth latch onto earlobes and jawlines and somehow, someone gets them both out of their shirts and Darren’s jeans are undone and halfway down his ass and Chris seems very eager to get his hand on Darren’s cock and Darren has similar sentiments and would also like to get his own on Chris’. But then Chris is slamming his shoulders back against the wall again and then pants are off and Chris is wrapping his hand around Darren’s cock and Darren’s eyes roll back and it’s mostly just heat and motion and damp.

And he’s finished and Chris is panting and makes to step away but Darren won’t have that. He has Chris back against the wall and is on his knees in seconds, sucking his own come from Chris’ fingers. Chris whines at that, eyes closed and head tipped back and Darren releases his fingers with a pop and moves to sucks a kiss over Chris’ hipbone and tongues his way center, muttering as he goes. “It wasn’t even the pants, really. Okay, it was. But it was more your eyes.” He moans against the base of Chris’ cock and Chris answers it from the vibration and sensation. “It was your eyes and the fucking look in them. Fuck Chris, that goddamn attitude.” He growls or something near it but he wasn’t kidding when he said he didn’t think of himself as sexy and it would have cracked himself up if his lips weren’t on Chris Colfer’s cock so instead he just gets to work.

And Chris is still and calm throughout it, mostly. He gives short bursts of encouragement in gasps and half-words and fingers in Darren hair and tight circles of his hips. Mostly, though, it’s Chris trembling minutely beneath him and Darren doing his best but also sort of getting lost in the sloppy indulgence over the fact that he is sucking Chris Colfer off and that is a beautiful thing. And he ends up swallowing mostly out of curiosity and partly because it would just be fucking rude not to at this point. Vibrating, Chris slides down the wall to sit. Darren shifts, somehow, playing experimentally with the taste at the roof of his mouth and then letting himself fall next to Chris.

There’s a long silence heavy with heat and breaths and post-orgasm resetting and then Chris laughs and Darren does too, though he’s not really sure why except that it seems right. Chris shoves him a little and this is Chris next to him and Darren grins bright and wide and shoves him back. Chris makes some comment about how much shit Darren’s in for if he ripped his shirt and turns to search for the clothing in question and Darren just lets himself settle into the happy buzz that has found his chest, the electrocution of the boy’s gaze no longer haunting him, just reminding him.


End file.
